


(forget me) Say You Won't

by alpha_hydra



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pre-Slash, except more like h/c without the comfort, might as well post this before Thor 2 makes it irrelevant, or instead of preslash just genfic really, post-avengers spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_hydra/pseuds/alpha_hydra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because his brother could bring about Ragnarok and <i>still</i> Thor would try to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(forget me) Say You Won't

**Author's Note:**

> So one day I was sitting around plotting a superman/batman fic, and then I got hit with sudden Thor!feels of the unignorable kind and then woops, fic. This is one of those ideas that either has to stay 4k or become monstrously long, and failing an actual plot idea, this is what happens.

Midgard is hopeful and dazzling when Thor looks to Loki. His brother, sullen, defeated, unhappy, remains mute. His mouth is bound shut by some Midgardian magic--his friend Tony says technology--Thor thinks in an attempt to keep Loki from working his own magic. Thor knows it is a fruitless endeavor, but still, that he has come along with them, _with Thor_ , after his defeat is not a little worrying. He thinks perhaps the others would tell him to relax, but Thor has known his brother for millennia (thought he knew him, he reminds himself, because there is a wound between his ribs that aches still with betrayal). Loki has never been one to admit defeat so easily. 

He holds out the other end of the machine built to safely carry the tesseract, and Loki looks down at it, meets Thor’s eyes, looks away. He takes hold of the end. Thor wants to smile at his brother; instead, he thinks that he will leave Midgard again without ever catching a glimpse of the Lady Jane, and that steels his jaw. He turns the handle as friend Bruce had explained earlier, and as quick as a call from Heimdall, they are gone. 

They are on the very edge of Vanaheim, still miles away from home. 

“The All-father will know of our return,” Thor says. His brother does not answer. “It may have been better, perhaps, if we had let the Midgardians serve justice on you, brother. You know our father’s temper runs hot.”

Loki looks up at him, something dark flashing across his eyes. He can almost hear his brother in his head, clear as day, though the tingle of his magic is not present. 

_Your father,_ Loki’s eyes say. 

Thor lets his gaze stretch across the horizon again, where a shape is rising out of the chill mist. They are high atop a hill, and from this spot Thor can see the Don River twist along the landscape. They are in the south of Vanaheim, then. The beginnings of a forest creep up to their right, and everything is lush and green, a sharp contrast to the winter Thor feels somewhere deep in his bones.

The Vanir approaches steadily, and two pegasus trot steadily beside him. 

“We are in luck, brother,” Thor says before he remembers himself, “our journey home will not take so long.”

He winces a little at the sting in the resulting silence, because even silent Thor can feel his brother’s hatred. _Do you really hate me so much, brother?_ he wants to ask, but instead he remains quiet, begins a descent down their hilltop, and drags his brother along in his wake.

“Hana!” Thor calls when he is sure of the other’s identity. 

There is no mistaking his friend’s headdress, nor the bright rooster feathers he wears about his neck. His skin is a deep, healthy dark color, further proof of a fortuitous summer. Hana inclines his head at Thor’s greeting, solemnly hands Thor the reins to both beasts.

“I thank you, my friend,” Thor says, but Hana is staring at Loki now, who is glaring back alarmingly. 

Could not the Vanir, who have been gifted with foresight, send them a messenger who was not willfully mute? Thor would find this situation amusing, if his brother had not aided an alien race in nearly destroying an entire realm not hours before. Hana holds out a fist, palm down towards Loki. He looks down at Loki’s bindings, up to his eyes, and looks to Thor expectantly.

“I cannot unbind him,” Thor warns, but Hana watches him, his eyes boring into Thor. Eventually, he holds out his palm, and into his hand Hana drops a heavy inlaid ring. Its face is black, with tiny swirling patterns that are almost--but not quite--a language. It is heavy in his hand, heavy with some unknown power. Thor resists the temptation to slip it on. “Neither can I knowingly hand my brother an artifact which may aid his magic.”

Hana says nothing, he merely blinks serenely, brings a hand up in farewell, and disappears into the sunlight. Thor curls his fingers around the ring in his palm.

“Come on, brother,” is all he says. “We have a long way to ride.”

The names of their steeds, Idunn and Unna, are emblazoned richly along the sides of their bridles. Unna follows Idunn easily over the direction her master may want, and so Loki sits upon her. Thor takes a moment to study his brother, still bruised, still covered in blood and dust from their battle, sitting slumped upon the back of a gleaming white pegasus. His heart aches a little, and Thor climbs onto Idunn. 

*

Thor elects for them to walk instead of fly, not partly because his brother has no control over Unna with his hands bound, and he will not risk a fall from such heights. It makes the way longer, the silences more unbearable, and an impulse grows in Thor to shout. He carefully wrapped the tesseract and its container in a pack, and it sits heavy across his back as they go.

“Why did you do it?” he asks at last. His voice is steadier than he imagined it would be. “You told me not six moons ago you never wanted the throne. Why would you ally yourself with an unknown race whose only purpose seemed to be to destroy Midgard?”

Loki does not answer, of course. Thor stares at him for some time, at the hollow, unreadable look in his eyes, the straps holding the lightweight metal gag in place. He thinks that if Loki were to lift his arms, he could snap the thing in half. 

“Why do you stay?” he asks sometime later, they are only now crossing into the farmlands of Vanaheim. The sun is low on the horizon; they have maybe an hour of sunlight left to them. “Those mortal restraints should be no match for you. Do you willfully seek out father’s punishment?”

Loki glares at him again, his shoulders tense. The most reaction Thor has received all day. 

There is a house on the horizon, it’s windows glowing with lamplight and its stables empty. He dismounts and leads Idunn, Unna, and Loki to the door.

“Thor!” Frey says when it bounds open on its own accord. “I have expected you!”

“Uncle,” Thor says weakly, unsure he believes the sight. “What are you doing here?

“I saw that you would be here,” Frey says, pulls Loki off Unna in a sharp motion, “And so I endeavored to be here when you came.”

“What luck.”

“Yes, luck,” Frey repeats, and his eyes rake over Loki sadly. “Come, warm yourselves by my hearth, I will put your horses away.”

He nudges Thor gently, and so he and Loki dither by the fireplace while Frey tends to their steeds. 

“Do not think this is easy for me, brother,” Thor says quietly when the silence becomes unbearable again. 

He resists the urge to pull off Loki’s bindings, because even when he has proven himself to be a villain, this is still his brother. Still the man who shared in Thor’s laughter, his tears, his earliest adventures. Loki does not move from where he is standing quietly by the hearth. His eyes do not flicker away from the firelight. He wonders if Loki is even listening to him, if he is plotting ways of escaping his future torments, if he is remembering his loss against the Avengers, if he is thinking of anything at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and this time, it comes out strangely urgent, desperate. Loki’s eyes snap to his, and for a moment the air crackles with more than just the fire.

“A feast!” Frey booms suddenly, bursting through the door. 

Loki looks away and Thor feels strangely bereft. 

“I cannot,” Thor says. He turns to Loki again for help, years of habit unsurprisingly difficult to be rid of. The ache in his ribs flares again, just a memory of hurt and betrayal, a sting of loss.

“Of course,” Frey answers. His face goes solemn again. “You are noble, son of Odin,” he says. He turns then to Loki, “And you, Laufeyson. You will remember it before the end.”

Loki cocks his head, a crinkle around his eyes betraying the smirk that is hidden behind his bindings. For a moment, all the past is erased between them, and it is simply Thor and Loki, sitting at the hearth of their uncle. Frey booms out a laugh, and Thor is tempted to join in, until the mood passes and the silence descends on them again. 

Thor is very tired from their journey, both from fighting the Chittauri and the long ride here, and yet he cannot sleep. He will not let Loki out of his sight, and so they share a room, two twins piled neatly into a large room. Loki sits at the edge of his bed, his back to Thor. Thor lays in his own fully clothed, not even under the covers, one arm under his head. Mjolnir sits quietly by his side, easily within reach. He looks up into the ceiling as if he could see beyond it to the stars above.

“Loki,” he says, half-expecting an exasperated answer. He does not bother to turn to see if Loki is watching him. “Why did you do it?”

There is no response. Thor thinks he might make himself mad, asking questions when he knows there will be no answer. 

It is a long, silent while before Thor drifts into an uneasy sleep. 

*

By dawn Thor has both Idunn and Unna ready for their journey. He hopes to leave quietly, before Frey awakes, but just as he helps Loki into his saddle, Frey rounds the corner to the stables. There is the suggestion of a smile along the side of his mouth though, so Thor assumes no offense has been taken. 

“I do not concern myself with the laws of your father, Thor,” Frey says after a moment. His eyes flicker to Loki, once, quickly, before pinning Thor down again. “Ride safe, Odinson, Laufeyson.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Thor says, clasps his hand once before hopping onto Idunn and starting them off again. 

It is a short distance to the small, rickety rainbow bridge constructed not weeks before Thor was summoned back to Midgard. It is not as flashy nor as quick as the bifrost, but it lets them travel between Valheim, Asgard, and Alfheim, so it will do for now. Thor lets their landscape of stars speak for them, tries not to let Loki’s sullen silence break him.

“Perhaps,” Thor says, when the first spires of Odin’s castle peek over the horizon, “perhaps there is someone, or something, in the nine realms that you fear worse than the All-father’s wrath.”

He does not need to turn to feel the glare Loki sends him, but he does nonetheless.

The words come out teasing, almost mocking, but Thor does not mean them as such. There is no other explanation for Loki’s behavior, unless he has lost control of his magic, which is itself very plausible.

That is when he first catches sight of Heimdall, Sif, and Balder, waiting for them at the end of the bridge. A sudden urgency grips Thor because _this is it,_ this is where he must offer up his brother like some beast caught hunting. Will they sew his mouth shut, he wonders, will they set loose The Destroyer upon him? He cannot bear to think of an existence without Loki, but if it is the will of the All-Father--

“Listen to me, Loki,” he says, and again, he sounds desperate. Loki watches him silently. “If there is someone whom you fear to face in battle, you must tell me. What did the Chitauri threaten you with for you to become their puppet? You must tell me. No one will listen to you now.”

_Except for me,_ he thinks. 

But it is too late; they reach the edge of the rainbow bridge, and Idunn stops before Sif. All three of them are armed. Sif pats the horse’s neck idly, smiles up at Thor before glowering at Loki. 

“Give the tesseract to Heimdall,” she says. “Balder and I will take custody of this wretch.”

Thor unpacks the tesseract and its machine and hands them to Heimdall. 

“Odin seeks me,” he says. “I must go.”

“Of course, Heimdall,” Balder says. He and Sif force Loki off Unna more forcefully than perhaps is necessary. “We’ll just clean up here, shall we?”

Heimdall takes his leave then, and before Sif or Balder can ask him anything, Thor snatches up the reigns of both Idunn and Unna and holds them up.

“I must find a squire to deliver these back to Vanaheim,” he says. At Sif’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “Go. I will not be long.”

He watches Sif and Balder lead Loki away, and though Loki does not turn back, Thor imagines that perhaps he wants to.

*

He eventually finds a young squire tending to Hogun’s horse, and when he has secured a promise from the boy to ride the horses back to Vanahiem with a friend, Thor sends him off and begins to make up some clean stables for them. 

It is as he is hanging up their saddles that he notices the lettering across one of the bridles has changed. Thor runs his thumb across the word, embossed in a dark red: where before it had read _Unna_ in swirling Vanir script, now a word in Midgardian English stares up at him. 

_THANOS_ it says, and the word has no meaning to Thor. 

He tries it aloud, to see how the word feels on his tongue.

“Thanos,” he mutters, and as if he himself spoke the countercurse, the letters fade back into their original meaning.

*

Thor dreams of a shadow and a distant, unknown world. The atmosphere is thin, and small shards of ice float down around him, not quite snow. A voice speaks to him, and although it is not very dark, when he tries to focus on the being before him, his vision slides away.

“If you fail,” the creature says, “if the tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something sweet as pain.”

The world tilts dangerously for a moment, and a sharp sting pierces the side of his neck. He wakes moments later, the phantom of an ache still at the base of his spine. It is dark out yet, and his room is much the same as when he prepared for bed. He feels unsettled, remembers his dream and puzzles over its nature. 

He decides it is a vision of the past; hopes, perhaps foolishly, that this is a way for Loki to explain himself when he has been refused visitors. More probably, Frigga, who has both magic and the gift of foresight, has granted him this vision, but why, he does not know.

His hand is clenched tightly around the ring he’d been presented in Vanaheim, the ring meant for Loki.

This would be easier, he thinks, if someone would tell him what he is supposed to do.

_He will make you long for something sweet as pain,_ he thinks, and then again, _Thanos_ , never spoken in the dream, but recited again, as an answer.

But then, perhaps it was only a dream.

*

Weeks pass, and Odin at last allows Heimdal to rebuild the bifrost using the tesseract as its core. It is a long, tedious process, but Heimdall has said before that he is happiest when very, very busy. Strangely, it is the Valkyries who offer up assistance, and while they are not known for their affability, they are strong warriors and efficient workers. 

A fortnight passes before Thor lets hope stir in the bosom of his heart; he may yet, before the end of summer, visit Midgard once more. 

And yet he rests less and less, avoids Sif and her warriors three more often, spends hours at a time in silence, spinning the ring in his hands like a charm. 

He does not know what to do.

But then, of late that has been the one constant in Thor’s life, and the uncertainty, at least, is familiar.

*

There is a feast the night the bifrost is completed, and Thor drinks and makes merry with his people and for a moment, lets himself forget his problems.

“Will you return to Midgard?” Sif asks, her body lax from too much mead. 

She smiles at him, happy and nonjudgmental, and it is easy for Thor to speak the truth to her.

“I think so.”

“I am glad for your happiness,” she says, leaning in close like this is some secret she imparts. “I do not understand it, but if those mortals make you happy, then so be it.”

She shrugs, waves around a long serving fork imperiously. It comes dangerously close to spearing Volstagg in the side of the head. For a moment Thor loves her fiercely, because he has heard nothing but contempt from Odin on his love of Midgard, and Sif herself has been disdainful of it in the past. But here, made honest by good drink, Thor lets himself hug her. 

“Thank you, Sif,” he says, and she wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders, clings to him a little, before she pushes him away with a laugh.

“Sometimes those we love most are the ones we do not understand,” she says cryptically, and then when she looks across the hall, laughs again. “Forgive me, Odinson, but I sense that Fandral needs rescuing again.”

Thor looks over to where Fandral is caught in the middle of some sort of brawl between two Valkyries and a Dark Elf. Thor lets the corner of his mouth quirk up and hides it behind his flagon. 

Hours later, Thor is more sober than perhaps anyone else in his father’s castle, and so he has no excuse for himself when he quietly slips into the dungeons. There is only one guard posted to the dungeons; she leans against the walls, arms crossed. She sleeps the sleep of the very inebriated. Thor resists the urge to clap the woman on the shoulder good-naturedly and instead slips into the dimly lit corridor.

Loki’s prison is at the very end of the hall, closest to The Destroyer, not, Thor thinks, by coincidence. Thor has never been one for stealth, and so it is no wonder that when Thor at last reaches his brother’s cell, Loki is already sitting up along the back wall. His knees are drawn close to his chest and his eyes glint in the dim torchlight.

It seems that only very recently, his brother has become a complete mystery to him.

“Brother.”

“Do not,” Loki says, and his voice is rough, like perhaps he has not used it at all since their return from Midgard, “ _Do not_ call me your brother.” 

It wounds Thor like a knife in the weak spot of his armor. His back straightens a little, his reflexive reaction to hiding a wince, and the corner of Loki’s mouth stretches into an unpleasant smile. He stands then, and though there are no chains that Thor can see, it still takes his brother a long, stumbling while to reach his cell bars. 

“I--I wished to speak with you,” he says, _before I leave again,_ he does not add.

“Is that so? Look who’s finally remembered me.”

“Loki,” Thor says, and his voice is much more urgent than he ever means for it to sound. “I could never have forgotten you.”

His voice cracks on the words, and the honesty of it bleeds out of him like a reopened wound. He wants to say that he has thought of little else in the weeks that have passed, that even the thought of returning to Midgard could not keep his mind from drifting down into these dungeons. Something passes over Loki’s expression at that; his smirk fades and something almost vulnerable replaces it, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

“Have you come to gloat?” he says, and this time it sounds bitter. “The whole of Asgard has already beaten you to it.”

“No,” Thor says, and hesitates. “I came to speak with you.”

“Speak then. But do not always expect an answer.”

“Who is Thanos?”

His brother does not flinch at the name, but Thor has spent millennia watching Loki; he knows when he is truly unconcerned and only appearing to be so.

“No one,” he says, but Thor already knows this is a lie. There is no one else who would have spelled out the name for him, across the stirrup of a horse that was not his, for no other purpose than a warning. “What does it matter to you, Odinson?”

“If you fail, there will be no crevice where he cannot find you,” Thor quotes evenly. Loki narrows his eyes and turns his back. Progress, Thor thinks. “I know Odin’s magic is not enough to keep you, so why do you stay? What are you hiding from?”

“Nothing,” is the answer, and then, quickly, mockingly, “What would you know of it? Precious Thor Odinson, crown prince of Asgard, two worlds and a host of powerful allies who will come to his aid. What have you to be afraid of?”

“So there is something.”

“No,” Loki says, too quick, and when he turns back to Thor, too much anger is in his face to be truthful. “Leave me, before I attempt to escape and The Destroyer awakens.”

“Hana of Vanaheim gave me something meant for you,” Thor says without knowing why. He pulls the ring out of his pocket, which seems to glow instead of glimmer in the torchlight. “What do you know about it?”

Loki stares at the ring, eyes narrowed, for a long while. When he drags his gaze back up to meet Thor’s, his eyes hold suspicion. Thor wonders if someday they will be able to trust each other again. 

“Nightbringer,” he says. “One of the Ten Rings.”

It means nothing to Thor, but the glint in Loki’s eyes says he is not saying everything he knows.

“If I gave this to you, would it keep you alive?”

For a long moment, Loki does not answer. His eyes search for something on Thor’s face; he wishes he knew what his brother is looking for.

“Why would you help me?”

There are many answers to that question. Thor wants Loki to be happy and whole, but failing that, _needs_ for him to be safe. Because Thor knows there is some good somewhere in Loki, and he will never stop trying to find it. Because there is no way this story ends with Loki friendless and alone. Because he loves Loki, more so than anyone in all the realms, and it kills him a little to see his brother rot away in prison. Because his brother could bring about Ragnarok and _still_ Thor would try to save him.

“There is no other choice for me, Brother,” Thor says instead. 

He tosses the ring across to Loki, knowing neither of them would be able to reach through the prison bars. Loki catches it, cradles it close to his chest. For a moment, Thor imagines wrapping an arm around Loki’s shoulders again, the way he would when they were young. 

Something complicated and unreadable passes over Loki’s face again, almost painful-looking. He does not speak. Instead, he slips the ring onto the pinky of his right hand. A heartbeat passes before the cell is filled suddenly with a thick, sickly-looking black fog, one impossible to see through. It slithers away like a living, vile thing, like a diseased shadow: through cracks and crevices and the seams of the stone floor. It leaves the cell completely empty.

The Destroyer does not stir, the single guard does not wake, and Thor stands alone, facing an empty prison cell. 

Come morning, he will depart for Midgard, and Loki will hopefully remain hidden and safe, and perhaps later he will not come to regret this moment.

For now though, his words to his brother remain true: there is no other choice but for Thor to help Loki when no one else will. He turns and quietly slips back to his rooms. 

He does not dream that night, and when he wakes the next morning, Loki is not mouldering away in his father’s prisons like a stranger. There are storm clouds on the horizon, but still, Thor thinks it is a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thor, Loki, and the entire Marvel universe belong to Marvel, Disney, um Stan Lee? and tons of other folks who are most decidedly Not Me. Standard Disclaimers. Whatever. Also: not beta'd. All mistakes mine.


End file.
